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Authors: Helen Wells
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her from one medieval, formidable gray-stone building to another, and took notes for her.
On the way they had glimpses of chapels, stone arcades, gardens, and bell towers. A few masters and students were here early, before the school term started. That evening Cherry and Martha dined on beefsteak stew, pickled walnuts, and Queen’s pudding, and slept that night in high-ceilinged old bedrooms. Next morning 61
62 CHERRY
AMES,
COMPANION
NURSE
they attended a formal Sunday church service, then lunched and boarded a bus for Stratford-upon-Avon.
Nearing Stratford they saw, at a distance, several brightly dressed young persons on bicycles. Cherry wondered if they might be Peter Holt’s students.
Cherry fell in love on sight with Shakespeare’s little town, deep in the country. Their bus drove beside the gentle River Avon, where swans glided under wil-low trees. As the bus turned onto cobblestoned High Street, Cherry exclaimed, “Why, this is just a pleasant country town!” Its rows of Tudor half-timbered brick and plaster houses, with their latticed windows and fl owering window boxes, looked inviting and homelike.
Martha smiled at Cherry’s delight. “If Will Shakespeare were to come back,” she said, “he’d fi nd his town little changed.”
They alighted from the bus at one of the two or three big inns in Stratford. Cherry registered for her patient and herself, and was seeing about their luggage when someone said:
“Oh, there you are! I fi gured that any day now you’d turn up either at the Falcon Inn or the Welcombe or here. I’ve been inquiring at all of them.” Cherry turned and saw Peter Holt, looking delighted and sunburned. He wore tennis clothes and carried a racket. He pumped Cherry’s hand, greeted Martha Logan, and invited them to have tea with him right now, all in one breath. Cherry was pleased to see him again—and knew she must be showing it; otherwise,
CHERRY MEETS PETER AGAIN
63
why did Martha look so amused? Martha said: “Why don’t you two have tea together? I’ll just go up to my room and work on my notes.” But Peter persuaded her to come along, and escorted them to a tearoom next door to the inn.
They had just sat down, and were deciding on orange squash instead of hot tea, when a very tall, very thin, fair young man in tennis clothes stopped at their table.
“I say, Holt, I’ve nothing against your looking for this girl, as girls go,” he said cheerfully, “but have you quite forgotten the sterling character with whom you have a tennis date? I refer, naturally, to myself.” Cherry’s mouth opened at the sight of this tall, limp young man, who reminded her of an earthworm standing on end. Martha Logan’s face said plainly: “Who in the world is this?”
“Oh, I am sorry, Ryder,” said Peter, getting up. “You wandered off there, and then when I found my friends—” He apologized and asked Ryder to join them, signaling the waitress for a fourth orange squash.
Ryder stood jauntily before them, plucking at his tennis racket as if it were a banjo. “I was about to suggest another game, but instinct tells me you won’t bob up on the court again today. Ladies”—Ryder bowed a little to them—“I was advising Holt on his backhand drive, and he was advising me on Shakespeare.”
“Sit down, Ryder,” Peter said with a grin. “Rodney Ryder has taken a sudden interest in Shakespeare.” 64 CHERRY
AMES,
COMPANION
NURSE
Ryder sat down, folding his lean length to cramp himself into the chair. His eyes were like blue icicles, and Cherry noticed he had a habit of blinking.
“My dear fellow,” Ryder said, “why shouldn’t I fancy going along with your learned little band to the Shakespeare exhibit again tomorrow?” He gave the two ladies a bland smile.
Peter hid his amusement. ‘‘Certainly, come along, if you like. Mrs. Logan, Miss Cherry Ames, this is Mr. Ryder.” Rodney Ryder’s expression changed as the American made the introductions. He
On the way they had glimpses of chapels, stone arcades, gardens, and bell towers. A few masters and students were here early, before the school term started. That evening Cherry and Martha dined on beefsteak stew, pickled walnuts, and Queen’s pudding, and slept that night in high-ceilinged old bedrooms. Next morning 61
62 CHERRY
AMES,
COMPANION
NURSE
they attended a formal Sunday church service, then lunched and boarded a bus for Stratford-upon-Avon.
Nearing Stratford they saw, at a distance, several brightly dressed young persons on bicycles. Cherry wondered if they might be Peter Holt’s students.
Cherry fell in love on sight with Shakespeare’s little town, deep in the country. Their bus drove beside the gentle River Avon, where swans glided under wil-low trees. As the bus turned onto cobblestoned High Street, Cherry exclaimed, “Why, this is just a pleasant country town!” Its rows of Tudor half-timbered brick and plaster houses, with their latticed windows and fl owering window boxes, looked inviting and homelike.
Martha smiled at Cherry’s delight. “If Will Shakespeare were to come back,” she said, “he’d fi nd his town little changed.”
They alighted from the bus at one of the two or three big inns in Stratford. Cherry registered for her patient and herself, and was seeing about their luggage when someone said:
“Oh, there you are! I fi gured that any day now you’d turn up either at the Falcon Inn or the Welcombe or here. I’ve been inquiring at all of them.” Cherry turned and saw Peter Holt, looking delighted and sunburned. He wore tennis clothes and carried a racket. He pumped Cherry’s hand, greeted Martha Logan, and invited them to have tea with him right now, all in one breath. Cherry was pleased to see him again—and knew she must be showing it; otherwise,
CHERRY MEETS PETER AGAIN
63
why did Martha look so amused? Martha said: “Why don’t you two have tea together? I’ll just go up to my room and work on my notes.” But Peter persuaded her to come along, and escorted them to a tearoom next door to the inn.
They had just sat down, and were deciding on orange squash instead of hot tea, when a very tall, very thin, fair young man in tennis clothes stopped at their table.
“I say, Holt, I’ve nothing against your looking for this girl, as girls go,” he said cheerfully, “but have you quite forgotten the sterling character with whom you have a tennis date? I refer, naturally, to myself.” Cherry’s mouth opened at the sight of this tall, limp young man, who reminded her of an earthworm standing on end. Martha Logan’s face said plainly: “Who in the world is this?”
“Oh, I am sorry, Ryder,” said Peter, getting up. “You wandered off there, and then when I found my friends—” He apologized and asked Ryder to join them, signaling the waitress for a fourth orange squash.
Ryder stood jauntily before them, plucking at his tennis racket as if it were a banjo. “I was about to suggest another game, but instinct tells me you won’t bob up on the court again today. Ladies”—Ryder bowed a little to them—“I was advising Holt on his backhand drive, and he was advising me on Shakespeare.”
“Sit down, Ryder,” Peter said with a grin. “Rodney Ryder has taken a sudden interest in Shakespeare.” 64 CHERRY
AMES,
COMPANION
NURSE
Ryder sat down, folding his lean length to cramp himself into the chair. His eyes were like blue icicles, and Cherry noticed he had a habit of blinking.
“My dear fellow,” Ryder said, “why shouldn’t I fancy going along with your learned little band to the Shakespeare exhibit again tomorrow?” He gave the two ladies a bland smile.
Peter hid his amusement. ‘‘Certainly, come along, if you like. Mrs. Logan, Miss Cherry Ames, this is Mr. Ryder.” Rodney Ryder’s expression changed as the American made the introductions. He
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